The Emperor's Heart
by AlianaKensington
Summary: History tells of the last Septim and the mighty Hero of Kvatch, who saved Tamriel from the sinister claws of the Daedric prince, Mehrunes Dagon. But there was so much more to the legend that history failed to tell us…
1. Prologue

The Emperor's Heart

Prologue

Last Seed 24, 3E433 11:56 pm

Bravil was strangely quiet. Not even the chirping and croaking of the swamp life that traveled through the channels could be heard. The moons hovered near the horizon, making the poverty-stricken town dark and foreboding. Several Imperial soldiers crept towards the center of the township, concealed in the shadows. Weapons drawn, they awaited their leader's word.

Giovanni Civello approached silently. Standing behind two of his officers, he peered between them. All eyes were on the statue of the Lucky Old Lady, and the figure standing before it.

The woman was tall, with golden blonde hair swept back in a ponytail that reached her lower back. She was dressed plainly, wearing a dark tunic and trousers. Her black leather boots reflected the dancing flame of her torch.

Civello glared. Though her back was to him, he recognized the Nord woman instantly. He could hear her murmuring to herself. Leaning in, he strained to listen.

"… I've lost my taste for it. Surely you can see why." She was silent a moment, then her shoulders slumped slightly. "Please don't misunderstand. I am grateful for all that has been given to me. I just… can't do this anymore. I don't have it in me."

Giovanni held back his snort. She was muttering like a mad woman. It figured she was insane. She would have to be, to do the things that she had done. The legionnaires turned to their captain. He nodded, eyes never leaving the Nord.

The guards left the shadows, swarming around the woman with weapons pointed at her from all angles. She made no motion to run; didn't even turn to look at her accosters.

Civello strode up behind her. "Lysara of Riften. By authority of the Empire, I arrest you for the murder of the honorable Adamus Phillida, Captain of the Leyawiin guard, and his defender, Seviton Clanellus!"

He had expected her to deny it; to plead innocence, or beg for mercy. The woman remained unaffected. If they didn't know better, she could be mistaken for a statue, as still as she was. The men tensed, unsure.

"What have you to say in your defense, Murderer?" Civello growled.

Finally, the woman turned to her accuser. He had never seen her face this close before. She had been lurking around before and after Phillida's untimely end. She had concealed her face with a cloak, and he almost wouldn't have noticed her then if not for her long golden hair trailing out from the hood. Her appearances surrounding Adamus's death were too much to be a coincidence.

Now looking at the Nord face-to-face, it was hard to believe she was a killer. She was pleasantly pale, with high cheekbones and long eyelashes. Her dusky blue eyes locked with his. He suppressed a shudder. By the Nine, the woman's gaze made his blood freeze. It held no hatred, no surprise.

Only the promise of death.

How could someone so attractive be so evil? No doubt her beauty had lead many men to their doom, his former commander withstanding. The Nord had taken him unaware- while he was swimming, no less! The mental image of his idol floating face down in the water with an arrow protruding from the back of his head infuriated him.

His anger seemed to amuse the woman, her petal-pink lips turning up in a wry smile, though it never reached her eyes.

"Well?!" The captain seethed. Would she not speak? He grabbed her by her hair, yanking her forward so that she had to look into his face. She winced, but said nothing.

"Speak, Assassin!"

"…Now that is a title I haven't been called for some time." Her voice was soft and light, flowing across his face with an eerie caress.

His eyes widened, despite his effort to remain in control. Her charms were frightening, knowing what she was capable of. He had to rid Nirn of this terrible, deceptive woman.

"I shall thoroughly enjoy gutting you, you heartless wench!" Civello hissed through his teeth.

Instead of cowering in fear, her smile broadened.

He grabbed one of her arms and motioned for another soldier to flank the other side of the assassin, taking hold of her torch. Followed by a procession of Imperial guards, the Nord was led out of the city towards the capital, and her demise.

One of the flagging Bravil soldiers glanced up at the statue, thinking it looked less pleasant and far more sinister at night. He paled, then ran to catch up with the others, not daring to look behind him. He shook his head, trying to un-see… he didn't know what.

For a moment, he could have _sworn_ he saw the lucky old lady's head turn as if to follow the woman with her sightless eyes.

* * *

This is a prequel to 'Forging the Heart's Desire'. As you may have guessed, the Dark Brotherhood quest line has taken place before the opening scene in the Imperial prison, instead of after. I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoy writing it. It has been a long time coming, due to my desire to get it right. Once again, I would like your correspondence.


	2. Chapter 1

The Emperor's Heart

Chapter 1

The Imperial Prison was hardly known for its hospitality. The moment Lysara was pulled through the cell doors, she was unceremoniously thrown into the wall. She had been stripped of her clothing and given rags to wear. Thankfully, the same lot that had escorted her from Bravil had been the ones to order her change of clothing, and were still too shaken up to attempt anything, leaving her as soon as she was secured.

She wasn't afraid. After all, this was the only fitting end for one such as her. That, or to end up on the wrong end of a target's sword.

Still, the idea of Giovanni Civello returning to make good on his threat left the Nord woman feeling anxious. No doubt he would tie her down- a position she did not enjoy. The new Legion captain was too spineless to take her on fairly. Lysara smirked, thinking of the renowned Captain Civello and at least a dozen guards coming to apprehend her in Bravil.

Leaning against the cold stone wall, she stared off, thinking of her last moment of freedom.

Civello had been wrong to call her a murderer. Lysara had surpassed that title and rose through the ranks to Silencer, until-

She shut her eyes tightly, willing herself to think of something- anything else.

It was part of the reason she was leaving the Brotherhood. So much had been lost that not even the most honored title and shiniest coin could tempt her to stay. She knew the Night Mother had seen everything that had happened in Cheydinhal and Applewatch, and would know why she couldn't bear to stay any longer.

Besides, what good was an assassin who couldn't kill anymore?

She had been prepared for some sort of rebuke or even penalty from the Night Mother; to hear her say that she was 'letting the family down'. Instead she received silence.

What did it mean? Anything would have been better compared to the cold quiet of her Matron.

Sighing, Lysara brought her knees to her chest, rested her head on her forearms, and waited for exhaustion to take her.

* * *

Last Seed 27, 3E433

"Oooh, aren't you a fair lass. Your skin is so pale, so pure. And your body is so... strong. Let me guess. A Nord, right? I bet you think you're pretty tough, huh? I bet you can swing a sword and everything. Well, it doesn't matter! Not in here. It does no good to fight. But don't worry. The guards always treat the pretty ones nice. Right 'til the end. Oh, that's right. You're going to die in here, Nord!"

Lysara stirred from her sleep to glare in the direction of the cell door. That damn Dunmer was lucky the guards had taken her daggers, or she would gladly break her 'no killing' vow, if only to shut him up.

Since her arrival a few days before, the Dark Elf hadn't bothered with her at first, having heard the stories about the lovely Nord woman who was suspected of working for the Dark Brotherhood. However, time had made him braver when it was clear she would not be let outside for the midday break, leaving him safe on the other side of the prison chamber to berate her with his idiotic chatter.

"That's what you get for killing the legion captain and his bodyguard!" Valen Dreth jeered. "You did, didn't you? You can tell me. It's not like they'll find you innocent."

Lysara stood up and stretched, earning an appreciative hiss from the obnoxious Dunmer. She turned to face him fully, leaning against the bars.

"I shot the captain, but I did not shoot the bodyguard." She said tiredly. Was it her fault the man couldn't handle botching his duties to protect Adamus Phillida and had killed himself?

"Well, it doesn't matter. They'll pin it all on you, Brotherhood assassin! How's it feel to know you'll soon see what it's like to be one of your poor, innocent victims?"

Lysara laughed low and mirthless, causing Valen to take a cautious step back.

Most of her so-called 'victims' were far from innocent. It was bastards like Dreth and worse that she'd become an assassin in the first place. Her blessed family had understood her personal vendetta against the hidden monsters of society, and had always allotted her the contracts of those deserving of a horrible death.

Gods, how she missed them.

Suddenly, the sound of the prison barracks door opening and quiet murmurs drew the prisoners' attention. Valen Dreth sneered at the Nord woman.

"Hear that? The guards are coming… for you! Hyah ha heh heh heh!"

Adrenaline rushed through her body. Captain Giovanni must've got tired of waiting for the sluggish process of the Imperial justice system. Resigned to her fate, Lysara prepared to meet with the vengeful face of Civello, only to lock eyes with a stranger instead.

"What's this prisoner doing here? This cell is supposed to be off limits!"

A Breton woman in fancy armor glared in the direction of the jailer, who fumbled for an excuse. Dismissing him, the woman ushered Lysara away from the cell door.

Three guards and a rather regal-looking Imperial entered her cell. "My sons… they're dead, aren't they?"

"We don't know that, sire. The messenger only said that they were attacked."

The Imperial man looked forlorn. "No, they're dead. I know it."

The assassin watched silently as one of the guards fumbled around the stone wall near her.

"You… I've seen you…"

Lysara's attention snapped back to the old Imperial. He stepped towards her, his hazy-gray eyes sweeping over her. "Let me see your face…"

The Nord woman felt uneasy; his gaze seemed to penetrate through her, as if he could look beyond her flesh.

He nodded solemnly. "You're the one from my dreams… Then the stars were right, and this is the day. Gods give me strength."

Lysara quirked her eyebrow. This fancy man was unhinged. Still, he had her curious.

"What's going on?" She asked gently, so as not to frighten the crazy Imperial. It wasn't her first time dealing with the insane. One had to tread carefully, seeing as they were very unpredictable.

"Assassins attacked my sons, and I am next."

Lysara was a little surprised. She hadn't given any orders to Arquen about the assassination of a family; a contract like that hadn't happened since Apple-

"Who are you?" The Nord woman asked in a rush, trying to distract herself from her own thoughts.

"I am your emperor, Uriel Septim. By the grace of the gods, I serve Tamriel as her ruler."

_Definitely_ not one of the Brotherhood's contracts. So this old man was the emperor? He looked the part, but his manners were rather odd.

"You are a citizen of Tamriel, and you, too, shall serve her in your own way." The emperor stated calmly. His face was weathered and pale, but his eyes were alert, as if he was seeing more than her in that moment.

The Listener shook her head, smiling wryly. "Forgive me, Your Highness, but I doubt I'll be of any use to the Empire. I await execution for my crimes."

"Perhaps not. Perhaps the gods put you here so that we may meet? As for what you have done… it does not matter. That is not what you will be remembered for."

Lysara would have stepped back if she hadn't already been ordered against the wall. This man was very unnerving. She could have almost believed he knew exactly who and what she was. The fact that he didn't sneer at her was strange in itself, but for him to believe she would be of some importance, for the sake of Tamriel? She was tempted to refuse him, to say she went her own way, yet…

Sighing, Lysara looked wearily into the emperor's cracked face. "What should I do?"

"You will find your own path. Take care… there will be blood and death before the end."

The Nord had to hold back a snort. _That_ was something she had dealt with on a daily basis.

The guards finally managed to pull the emperor away from her and towards a newly formed opening in the wall.

One of the guards, a Redguard, smirked at her. "Looks like this is your lucky day. Just stay out of our way." And with that, he went off in pursuit of the others.

They would let her go? Just like that? Lysara turned towards the cell door to see a stunned Dreth watching her from his cell, mouth hanging open. Smiling, she turned to head down the tunnel before a thought occurred to her.

"Oh, Valen. I think you should know that there's a good chance you'll meet with one of my associates soon. From the sound of things, you're not exactly very popular. Best sleep with one eye open."

The Dark Elf's viridian skin took on an ashy color, red eyes wide with fear.

Lysara laughed all the way down the dark corridor.

* * *

Things had turned interesting very quickly when she had caught up with the escape party in time to help them take on armed men in strange red armor. It was funny, too, because when you killed one, the armor melted into a bright red robe.

Lysara stared down at the dead assassins. They weren't Brotherhood. Too sloppy, and uncoordinated. A newly-founded assassin's guild?

The emperor was safe, but the Breton woman had fallen. He and the remaining two guards exited the chamber, the Redguard locking the door behind them.

"Well, so much for that." She muttered. Just then, she heard a crumbling sound, followed by shrill squeaking. Two large rats tromped up the stairs. Noticing her, they scurried towards her ankles. Moving quickly, Lysara took the dead woman's weapon, a steel katana, and made fast work of cutting down the large rodents.

Heading down, she noticed where the wall had collapsed, revealing another sort of path. Shrugging, and reminding herself that beggars can't be choosers, she ducked down in, hoping it led anywhere.

The caverns had small inconveniences in the form of rats, goblins, and one oddly misplaced zombie, but it still left the Listener panting. It aggravated Lysara to feel so weak, and only after a couple of days in the prison. They hadn't bothered to feed her much, and the lack of fresh water was starting to affect her agility.

She had made it through, but barely. Coming across a few rusty weapons and deteriorating armor hadn't helped much. Those goblins had been especially pesky. If she still had her daggers, or better still, her bow, she could have taken them all down before they could have garbled a greeting.

Coming through a wooden door and out of another hole in the wall, Lysara found herself back in the tunnels. She could hear the guards arguing over something just as one cried out. More assassins had come. Strangely, she found herself coming to their aide, cutting down one of the masked slayers that had set his sights on the Redguard.

He looked surprised to see her there, but not as angry over it as the Imperial officer.

"It's that prisoner again! Let's kill her! She may be working for the assassins!" The gruff, bulky guard bellowed.

The Listener scowled, taking on a fighting stance to defend against the ungrateful-

"No. She is not one of them." Emperor Uriel's quiet voice echoed off the dusty walls.

The guard stopped mid-stride.

"Come closer. I'd prefer not to have to shout." The Imperial lord beckoned the prisoner to him, who hesitated briefly before yielding.

"They cannot understand why I trust you. They've not seen what I've seen… how can I explain?"

The Listener patiently waited for the emperor to collect his thoughts. He searched her eyes, fully aware of her answers before she gave them. "Listen. You know the Nine? How they guide our fates with an invisible hand?"

Lysara felt uncomfortable. The Nine were not on her list of favorite beings- hadn't been for years. And she was fairly certain she wasn't on their list, either.

"I'm not on good terms with the Gods."

He nodded knowingly. "I have served the Nine all my days, and I chart my course by the cycles of the heavens…"

He continued to explain in a puzzling and cryptic manner that made Lysara tune him out briefly, until he asked what her birth sign was.

"The Lover." Gifts were given according to one's birth sign. Lysara's gave her the uncanny ability to paralyze with a kiss- which she utilized on more than one occasion for her contracts.

Uriel spoke of foreseeing his own death, shortly to come.

"Are you afraid to die?" It was a bit crass to ask such a question, but this man left her more and more curious. About to meet his end, yet he didn't show a bit of fear. It was admirable.

"No trophies of my triumphs proceed me, but I have lived well, and my ghost shall rest easy."

He moved closer and cupped her face, almost in a fatherly way. It caught her off-guard.

"In your face I behold the sun's companion. The dawn of Akatosh's bright glory may banish the coming darkness."

He sighed heavily. "With such hope, and the promise of your aide, my heart must be satisfied."

His hands fell back to his side. They looked at one another, as if to assess the other.

What is it he exactly wanted from her? "Where are we going?"

"I am going to my grave. A tongue shriller than all the music calls me. You shall follow me yet for a while, then we must part. I shall face my apportioned fate, then fall."

Lysara's eyes shined. She had seen many men die, most by her own hand. But the dignity that this man possessed was truly remarkable. He was ushered forward again. She unconsciously began to follow after him when the Redguard stopped her.

"You may as well make yourself useful. Carry that torch and stick close."

He handed her the torch, and flagged her, still a little weary of this new addition to their party. She asked him about the emperor, and the meaning of the name 'Blades'. He was short with his answers, clearly more concerned with getting the emperor out alive. It might have also had something to do with her former employment, if he knew about it.

They didn't get far when more of the damned Red-wearing murderers showed up. Lysara wasn't sure she could keep this up. She still hadn't eaten in a while, and her muscles screamed at her. Still, the pain was better than the alternative.

The prisoner was relieved to hear the other guard say that they were almost through. However, her joy was short-lived when they all found themselves staring through a barred gate.

Trying a passage to the side led to a dead end. Hearing the approach of more assassins, the guards left her in charge of protecting the emperor. Oddly enough, she sort of hoped she would be able to lead him safely out of that hole.

Emperor Uriel turned to face her anxiously. "I can go no further. You alone must stand against the Prince of Destruction and his mortal servants. He must not have the Amulet of Kings!"

He removed the large red stone from around his neck and clasped her hands around it. The moment he did, a strange rush of energy flowed through her. It was familiar…

"Take the Amulet. Give it to Jauffre. He alone knows where to find my last son. Find him, and close shut the jaws of Oblivion."

This was a lot of information to process, and all with this unknown force swirling around her, making her dizzy. It was because of this that Lysara failed to see the stone panel slide open behind the emperor, and the assassin lunge out from it. With one strike, the red murderer brought down the mighty Uriel Septim.

Lysara came alive all at once, the sight of the fallen emperor setting her blood on fire. She charged the assassin with a furious cry, hacking at him. He gurgled blood mid-sentence; something about taking up a cause.

She had. And the bastard had just ended it without as much as a 'how do you do'. The armor melted into the red robes once again, now with darker red patches all over.

The Redguard ran towards the commotion. His steps faltered when his eyes fell upon the lifeless body of his emperor. Baurus knelt beside Uriel Septim, devastation marring his face.

"We failed. _I've _failed." He continued to lament, and Lysara found herself sympathizing, which she _never_ did. _"The Listener must remain impartial to the trials of others; for you never know whose throat you will have to cut."_ Arquen's words echoed through her head. But the Redguard's cause had been hers, and for much longer.

Baurus began to panic, unable to find the Amulet. Lysara held it up to him. "The emperor gave it to me."

He gave her a calculating look before sighing. "Strange. He saw something in you… trusted you."

He continued on, giving her a history lesson about the Septim bloodline and the amulet that she could have done without. But, if it distracted them both from failure, so be it.

She looked at the large, red stone of the amulet. He said that only a Septim could wear it, but something within her told her that wasn't true. In fact, she felt sure that _she _could wear it.

…Then again, it was a bit to gaudy for her taste.

"He must have given it to you for a reason. Did he say why?"

Lysara looked back up at the guard. "I must take it to… Jauffre. There is another heir."

He seemed surprised by this, but immediately trusted her word as truth, explaining that this Jauffre lived as a monk, but was truly the grandmaster of the emperor's personal guard, known as the Blades, of which he belonged.

He directed her to the priory where this grandmaster could be found, giving her a key that would allow her to exit the sewers.

Lysara quirked an eyebrow. So not only was he going to allow her to keep this amulet, but he trusted her to deliver it, and on her own?

He bowed his head a little sheepishly, clearly understanding her expression. "I must stay to guard the emperor's body. There are rats and goblins in the sewers. But from what I've seen, you're an experienced pilgrim. Am I right?"

Lysara could have lied, but it wasn't in her to do so. She had, of course, in order to carry out contracts. But with all that behind her…

"… I was an assassin. Now… I'm not sure…" It was almost funny, how vulnerable she felt in that moment.

His eyes narrowed. But when he looked at the emperor, then back to her, his eyes were softer. "I never would have guessed it. Then you shouldn't have any trouble with rats and goblins."

* * *

Yes, if she had fed and slept well in the last couple of days, it wouldn't have been a problem. But they had proven a massive challenge, and left her bloody and beyond exhausted. The sight of the promised gate was the only thing that kept her from collapsing right there in the cistern.

…moonlight! And glorious fresh air! Lysara was dancing on the inside, but kneeling in the rocky sand outwardly. She could see the lake, a dock, and ruins on a small island directly in front of her. She turned to her left, then to her right-

To find an assassin standing next to her at the entrance. Only this assassin was familiar.

* * *

Thank you to those of you who have expressed excitement in this new story. I share it! I am going to try to avoid such lengthy recaps in the future, but I enjoy Uriel's dialogue, and felt it was important to the story. The main focus will be Martin and Lysara.

I do not own Oblivion, its characters, or the works of Bethesda and Zenimax.


	3. Chapter 2

The Emperor's Heart

Chapter 2

Lysara was frozen in place, eyes locked with the Khajiit. R'zhar was one of the first to be recruited by Arquen when the Nord woman had been named Listener. He had shown great promise, surpassing the other two murderers in skill and tenacity.

And it was very unlikely that he was here for a social call.

Her shoulders sagging and her breathing shallow, the Listener tried to stand and rally. She was still aching from her battle with the goblins, but it wasn't like her to go down without a fight. Lysara stayed calm and still, waiting for her former brother to make the first move.

The Khajiit reached behind him. The Nord woman tensed, readying herself for…

… A pack?

R'zhar tossed the large woolen rucksack to her wordlessly. She quirked a weary eyebrow at him, wondering what his game was. She carefully opened the pack, keeping the Cat Man in her peripheral sight. It could be some off-handed trick to distract her while he went for her throat.

Lysara's eyes went wide.

Inside the bundle was Dark Brotherhood armor. _Her _armor. As well as her Blade of Woe, a few healing potions, assorted treasures and a smaller but heavy bag that jingled with gold septims.

She looked up at R'zhar in confusion. Why would he give this to her? Hadn't he come to kill her?

The Khajiit had said very little when she was in the sanctuary; she almost believed he was mute. It was welcome, compared to the nonsense and fawning of the others.

So for the second time in that day, she was caught off-guard when he quietly murmured, "Mother says, 'hello'."

And with that, he ran into the shadows of the nearby forest.

Lysara's eyes softened, looking in the direction of the new Listener. So it was over? No retaliation? Looking back inside the rucksack, the Nord woman smiled warmly.

"Thank you." She whispered. It seemed her Matron hadn't forsaken her. In fact, the armor alone must be a sign that, if she should wish, she could return home; something Lysara would have to think hard over.

If she did return to the sanctuary, there would be no changing her mind again.

She downed the potions immediately, which knitted her wounds back together in a soft blue light. She examined her pale skin, finding no scars. Unfortunately, the potions did nothing to alleviate her empty belly. Lysara could tolerate many hardships in life, but hunger was not one of them. She'd dealt enough with that in the latter years of her time at the Riften Orphanage.

The Nord woman examined the jewels in the sack. She could sell one for some new clothes, a room and a late supper at one of the inns inside the Imperial City. But then she would most likely run into one of the goons that had apprehended her in Bravil, and her one chance at freedom would've been squandered.

No, she'd just have to head towards that priory, and hope for an inn or a farm along the way. Raw vegetables were better than nothing.

* * *

Lysara's luck had really turned around. While traveling the Red Ring Road, she'd come across a traveling merchant on his way to the Market District. After some shrewd negotiations (and a bit of shameless flirting), the Nord woman had acquired a nearly full set of leather armor, a Dwarven bow and quiver with a little more than a dozen steel arrows, and bread and cheese. The latter had actually been the Breton man's breakfast.

What could she say? She knew how to charm, and she was _very_ hungry.

Scarfing the food down, she continued down the road until she found a shaded clearing in which she could change into her new armor. She had been tempted to don her Brotherhood armor upon receiving it, but didn't feel right about it. And there was always the possibility someone would recognize her while traveling.

The leather cuirass and greaves were almost perfect in length; no doubt intended for a Non-Nord male. She was a little below average height for a Nord woman, which she had been teased about often in her youth. The boots were loose, so she ripped her ragged clothes and stuffed the tips, making them wearable. The lack of helmet didn't bother her. She preferred to be able to see from all angles, and a helmet usually inhibited her peripheral.

Slinging the bow and quiver across her back, she walked back to the road, and towards the Grandmaster Monk. Walking the path, she drifted within herself. Was she really going to do this? The emperor was dead; it's not like he would know if she didn't go through with it. But…

Sighing, the former Listener trudged on.

Weynon Priory was everything she imagined it would be: quaint, small, and old. No doubt its tenants would be the same.

She let herself in, feeling that formalities were the least of their worries. It was funny, but the tiny building seemed even smaller on the inside. A large staircase that forked on the upper level took up most of the monastery. She looked left to find a few weathered beds. Lysara turned back and to the right. This room looked more promising. Besides having desks and bookshelves, it was also occupied.

An older Breton man with thinning gray hair sat at the large desk in the back of the room, writing on a parchment. Though he didn't look up, he addressed her resolutely. "I'm Brother Jauffre. What do you want?"

Well. If this man was going for inconspicuous, he needed a lesson in monk manners.

Lysara approached the surly man, and gently laid the Amulet in front of him. She was half tempted to throw it at him, but she doubted the emperor would have appreciated that.

The monk's eyes went wide. "This cannot be. Only the emperor is permitted to handle this." Jauffre's head shot up, scrutinizing her with a glare. "Who are you? How did you get this? What do you know of the emperor's death?"

The Nord woman bit her tongue in order to keep her temper. _This_ was the Grandmaster of the Blades? No wonder the emperor died! No tact whatsoever.

"He sent me to find you… to give this to you." She spoke calmly, despite her feelings.

The monk rose from his feet, body tense. "You failed to tell me who you are."

She shrugged, feigning indifference. "That is not important."

He stared at her for a long time, before relaxing (if only by a few degrees.) He walked around the table. "As unlikely as your story sounds, I believe you. Only the strange destiny of Uriel Septim could bring you to me carrying the Amulet of Kings."

She spoke then asked him about the emperor's final cryptic words. He explained as best he could, and in terms he thought she would understand.

Apparently, this 'prince of destruction' was a daedric prince named Mehrunes Dagon. He posed a threat to the mortal realm, but had been kept at bay somehow by the coronation of the emperors.

"The Amulet of Kings is ancient. Saint Alessia herself received it from the gods."

Lysara's brows knitted together as an image flashed in her mind. She could see bright, golden hands placing the large red stone in her own, then a bright light. As soon as it had come, it was gone, and she realized the monk was still talking. Shaking her head, the image faded as she tried to focus on Jauffre's words.

"…uses the Amulet to light the Dragonfires at the Temple of the One in the Imperial City. With the emperor dead, the dragonfires will be dark for the first time in centuries. Perhaps the Dragonfires protected us from a threat that only the emperor was aware of?"

"The emperor asked me to find his son."

Jauffre looked taken aback, then resigned. "I am one of the few that know of his existence."

He went on to tell how many years before, the emperor asked the Grandmaster to hide his son, a babe at the time, and to keep him from harm. He had taken him to a family in Kvatch, and from what the monk had heard last, he was a priest there.

She left the priory, the Grandmaster fast on her heels, urging her to make haste, for it was likely the heir was in great danger.

As she headed south, she could sense an urgency within her. If this son of Uriel was in danger, than she would protect him, and make amends for failing to save the emperor.

His name danced in her mind, until she felt she had to speak it, or go insane.

"…Martin."


	4. Chapter 3

The Emperor's Heart

Chapter 3

"Rise and shine, Brother Martin. Time to greet the new day!"

Martin stirred, the cheery voice of Brother Astav penetrating his subconscious. It was very early, and the normally sullen Breton was far too happy for the hour.

Sighing, Martin sat up and ran his hand over his face and through his hair. It was no matter. His dreams had prevented him any rest. Terrible images still swirled in his mind, but they were slowly fading as he became more awake, leaving nothing behind but a strong feeling of dread.

What did it mean?

The priest looked at the Breton man. He was a new member of the Chapel of Akatosh; had just finished seminary and was looking to do the gods' work. Astav bustled around their shared quarters, packing items into his knapsack.

"Where are you off to, Brother Astav?" Matrin asked quietly.

"I am off to the Imperial City. Going to give aid to the poor in the Waterfront!" He turned to smile at the Imperial man. He really did seem genuinely happy to Martin. Strange.

"Well, good luck to you, then. Safe travels."

"Thank you. I shall be quite safe." Atav clipped in a matter-of-fact way. He finished gathering supplies and headed out the door, humming an unfamiliar tune.

Martin stood and went for the wash basin. Splashing his face with the chilly water seemed to bring him back to life a little. He changed from his night shift to his serving robes, and headed out of his chamber to begin his morning prayers.

Several minutes into kneeling before the altar had done little to alleviate his unease. He looked up at the stained glass image of Akatosh. It had always given him comfort, yet today was different somehow. He felt… a darkness. It almost seemed familiar, yet it was far more sinister.

Shaking his head, Martin walked towards the enormous wooden doors to work in the gardens before the day was too hot.

* * *

Lysara trudged down the road, the moons high above. She was getting close, according to her map. Just over the hill, she would be able to see the city walls. Her mind wandered back to the emperor, and then forward to the illegitimate son. How does someone go about telling a person that not only are they not who they thought they were, but who they actually were was so incredible that-

"Well, well. What have we here?" The assassin whipped around to see a burly Nord man dressed in Highwayman's clothing leaning against a tree. His arms were crossed as he smirked in her direction. "You lost, little lady?"

Lysara snorted. Definitely a Nord. 'Little' was not something many men could call her. Her less than average Nordic height was still taller than most. She feigned a smile and bowed slightly. "Good evening, kinsman. Where do you hale from?"

"Your worst nightmare." He sneered.

Ah. So it was like that.

Sighing, Lysara nonchalantly reached for her dagger. "I really don't recommend this…"

"Neither do I, Sweetheart." As he said this, three more bandits walked out from the tree line.

Well, damn. This was just not her night.

"Give us your goods, then you'll be on your way. No harm, no foul." A dirty-looking Imperial smirked.

"Ah, ah. Let's not ruin the moment with lies, gentlemen. I know exactly how this works. You can't very well let me live, after I've seen your faces."

The Nord man laughed. "That's true! Smart little thing, aren't you? But not smart enough…" And with that, he lunged for her, his goons following behind.

She slashed at her assailants, leaving a few nasty gashes across the leader's cheek, and elsewhere on anyone too slow to move out of the way. Furious, the Nord man bellowed as he charged her again. Lysara was about to dodge and counter when her heel caught on an overgrown root that she hadn't seen. Falling hard on her back, the wind rushed out of her, disabling the assassin long enough for the bandits to get the upper hand.

Three held her down by her arms and shoulders as she thrashed wildly. She _hated _being held down. The Nord bandit leader stood in front of her, grinning like a mad man.

"So you like to play with knives, eh, little girl? Well I know a real fun game we can play." He laughed as he moved to untie his breeches.

Lysara's eyes grew wide. They were going to…

'No… not like this!' She thought angrily, thrashing harder to get away from those monsters.

Just then, the Nord froze, staring straight in front of him with bulging eyes. The other bandits looked up to see what was there, expressions soon matching their leader's. Lysara heard a loud snort, hot air blowing the loose strands of hair out of her face. A loud thud sounded directly behind her head.

"Wha… what is that thing?" One of the robbers whimpered.

As if to answer, an earsplitting whinny tore through the woods. It seemed to come from all directions, echoing off the dark trees. The men scattered and fled, leaving Lysara on the ground.

More curious than afraid, the Nord woman leaned her head back as far as she could. Red glowing eyes greeted her.

'It couldn't be…' She blinked, then sat up, turning to stare at the ebony horse, his long face only a foot from hers.

Shadowmare clopped his foot on the grass and bobbed his head, as if to salute his master.

Lysara stood, unable to believe what she was seeing. She had left Shadowmare at Fort Farragut just before heading to Bravil. She hated goodbyes, and wasn't entirely sure how to convey to the Void-driven beast that she was leaving the family.

Tired of waiting for his master, Shadowmare moved closer, nudging Lysara's hand with his muzzle.

She rubbed up and over the black horse's head, smiling down at her friend. "Thank you."

Over the last few years, they had grown close. Especially since he was the only one left from the original family.

The assassin's heart clenched tightly in her chest. It was still so painful to think they were gone, killed off one-by-one.

And she had done it.

Pain marring her face, Lysara clutched Shadowmare's head, fighting back her tears. She would never forget that night. The look of betrayal on all her beloved brothers' and sisters' faces. Sithis, it was horrible.

And Lucien…

Shaking her head rapidly, the Nord woman released the horse and began walking down the road in the direction of Kvatch. It wasn't long before she realized she was being followed, the familiar _clip-clop _mirroring her own steps; the moment she stopped, so did the sound. When she started up again, the clopping resumed.

She turned back, brows scrunched together. "No, Shadowmare. I'm… I'm not…"

Was she really going to try to explain to a horse? But Shadowmare wasn't the average horse; he was brilliant and very loyal, despite being cruelly given a girly name.

Lysara made shooing motions with her hands. "Go on… go home."

When the horse didn't budge, she tried again, her gestures and voice stronger. "Go on… go! I am sure someone will come by the Fort. Just wait there."

Still the horse wouldn't budge. He even had the audacity to shake his head. Frustrated, the Nord woman shouted, "I am ordering you to return! Do not follow me!" She whipped around on her heels and continued walking. This time, the sound didn't resume. Lysara was tempted to look behind her, but resisted.

Finally over the hill, she caught sight of the shadowy city. But… something was wrong.

* * *

Martin huddled with a few of the younger refugees in a corner of the damaged chapel. It was still standing, unlike the rest of the city. He continued his prayers to Akatosh, but his mind was racing too fast to really focus.

How could this happen? What was happening? Earlier that evening, he was getting ready to have supper when a horrible sound vibrated the stone walls, kicking dust off of the ceilings. He and the other priests went out to investigate the moment they heard screaming outside. Nothing could have prepared them for the sight before them.

The sky had turned a ghastly deep shade of red, as if the very heavens were on fire! Then the creatures poured over and through the walls, followed by this enormous black… thing. Martin's dream images immediately returned to him. This is what he had seen!

They tried to help as many people, but they were priests, not warriors. In fact, most of the other clergy had immediately been cut down or torn apart. Fearing more for the citizens, he ushered them towards the chapel, hoping to find safety there amongst the burning buildings and monstrous beings.

Why wasn't Akatosh intervening? Weren't the gods supposed to protect them from evil like this? These monsters and attacks were clearly the work of the Daedric, though he wasn't sure which one. He did know one thing for sure:

It wasn't Sanguine.

* * *

Lysara was having one of those Void-forsaken days. First, the bandits. Then her bittersweet reunion, and now this.

According to a frenzied High Elf, the city had been attacked just after dark. She had hoped to get more information, but the half-coherent Altmer fled before she could ask. There'd been a priest on the road to the city, but the doom-and-gloom holy man was even less help. The sky turned a nasty shade of red the closer she continued to Kvatch's entrance.

There were guards shielded behind wooden spikes. And there, right in front of the city gate, was an enormous swirling portal. As if that wasn't unsettling enough, nasty little creatures began to pour out of it, heading straight for them. The guards ran at the creatures, Lysara fast at their heels. They were dispatched easily, but the captain, Savlian Matius, said there were worse things inside the city, and all had come from the same portal. She asked him about the priest named Martin. If she came all this way only to have failed again, she was going to find and kill every-

"He escaped with a few others into the chapel. My guess is they're all still in there. But there's no way into the city with that gate open! I don't know how to close it, but it must be possible, because the enemy closed the others before they opened this one."

The assassin looked up at the swirling vortex. There was no way in but through that thing, and it wasn't likely to have meadows and streams inside of it.

Still, it had to be done, and the guard looked exhausted. When she offered to go in, he looked as though he would've laughed if he wasn't aching. Still, she had held her own against the ugly little monsters, and there were men inside that gate. He handed her a short sword, an extra quiver of arrows, and offered her his admiration for her bravery.

As she approached the looming portal, she wondered what the chances were she'd come back out alive.

"Well, it's been an interesting life…" She chuckled mirthlessly. Hesitating for a moment, Lysara cautiously passed her hand through the portal. Phew. Wherever it went, it was hot.

Sighing, she slowly slipped through, disappearing from the guards' sight.

* * *

Savlian was sure the woman was dead. One of his men had returned from the gate shortly after she had entered it. He spoke of the horrors he had found inside, and told of the fate of his legion. There was no way a mere girl could last in a place like that, even if she was a Nord. It had to have been well over an hour since she-

Suddenly, a flash erupted from the portal. The captain shielded his eyes from the blinding light. It dissipated, and with it the horrible red sky. Matius looked at the remnants of the gate. It was closed! But where was the girl? A hooded dremora stood with its back to him where the portal used to be. One bastard managed to get out before the poor girl closed it? It opened the city gate, drawing the attention of the other daedra on the opposite side. He raised his sword and charged, his company short behind him.

Their rush was abruptly cut short when a black streak flew past them. It stopped short of the hooded dremora. A horse? Savlian stared as the dremora looked at it, then launched itself on the horse, taking off after the monsters that were scurrying towards the opened gate. It hacked away at the attacking daedra with a short sword. The captain stared in awe. What in-

As the dremora struck another, it half turned and called out to him.

"Are you coming or not?"

* * *

Most of the screams had stopped hours ago, but suddenly there was more; only instead of terror, Martin thought it sounded more like rallying cries. One of the guards inside of the chapel rushed out, alarming most of the civilians. It grew quiet again. What was going on?

A moment later, the same guard came in, with others trickling in behind her. She shouted to everyone that the portal had been closed, and the daedra were slain! A mysterious stranger had liberated the city; they could leave the chapel and head for the encampment. Guards ushered people out the wooden doors.

Just then, a hooded figure rushed passed the guards and looked around the hall. Its head turned before settling in his direction. Martin was alarmed that no one was frightened. But they must not have known; it was wearing a dark dremora cloak!

It ran towards him. Gods, this was it. He was going to die. Saved from the horrible night only to die. Just as it reached him, he braced himself.

"Are you Martin?" A soft, weary voice asked.

The priest blinked. What on Nirn…?

The hood was dropped down to reveal a dingy and sweat-soaked Nord woman, who couldn't have seen more than thirty seasons. Her golden and matted hair was plastered to her head and face, dark smudges covering what must normally be pale skin. Her dusky blue eyes were brilliant, despite the rest of her appearance.

This must be the mysterious hero who had aided the guard in liberating the city.

He hesitated, then answered, "I am. I heard about how you helped the guard drive the daedra back. Well done."

She grabbed his wrist. A small current ran through him at the touch, causing him to shiver. At first he thought she had done something, but soon realized she had been equally affected.

Confused, she stared at him before remembering the task at hand. She pulled him in the direction of the chapel doors. "You need to come with me. You're in danger."

Martin started, dragging his heels so she couldn't pull him along. She whipped around, surprised.

"Of course I'm in danger. But I'm needed here. I can't leave."

She released his arm and glowered. "You have to. It's not safe here."

The priest crossed his arms. "I assume you didn't risk your life to tell me something I already know."

Lysara gaped. Of all the-… was he serious?

"Who are you and what do you want with me?" Martin asked sternly. If this woman really thought she could just lead him away from the people who needed him, she was out of her mind.

Then again, she had willing gone into that portal. Chances were she was.

The assassin huffed. Unbelievable. She had just endured the nastiest place she'd ever come across, filled with ten different types of ugly that wanted to flay her alive, risked her neck to close that damn gate, and all for this ungrateful, snobbish-

…Huh… this _was_ the son of the emperor.


	5. Chapter 4

The Emperor's Heart

Chapter 4

Lysara was at a loss. Either she dragged the royal pain-in-the-arse kicking and screaming, or she had to waste time explaining everything. She was tempted to do the former, and leave explanations to Jauffre. However, she would likely get to Weynon Priory faster if he was willing.

Damn it all. She was too tired for this. After running around that fiery wasteland trying to locate survivors and close the portal, she'd had enough for one day. Not to mention she was still pissed off about her armor. She had just bought it! If she ever saw another one of those fire-spewing pillars again, it would be too soon. She had reluctantly taken the dremora's robe and cloak (after liberating him of his head), not wishing to ruin her Brotherhood armor until she knew what she was up against. It had proven to be a smart move, as the rest of the man-like demons were unsuspecting of her- well, until she lodged a short sword into their chest.

Taking a deep breath, the Nord woman gave him a steady look. "Please. We need your help."

Martin scowled deeper. "If you came for my help, you're more of a fool than you look. Look around. What good is a priest?" He gestured with his hands towards the weary, frightened civilians. Aside from leading them to the relative safety of the chapel, he'd been unable to do more than beg the gods to save them.

By Sithis, what was it with the damn clergy around here!? Lysara's already flushed cheeks took on a deep red color. "The next time someone rescues you from certain death, I suggest not insulting them!" She bit out.

The priest was taken aback. Hanging his head, he sighed. "I am sorry. I did not mean to be so rude. It… it has been a long night, as you can imagine."

Lysara huffed. Finding it difficult to stay angry, she tried for a calmer tone. "I understand, but I still need you to come with me. I have been ordered to deliver you to Weynon Priory. Grandmaster Jauffre offers his protection." 'Ordered' seemed more official than 'chased out the door'.

"Jauffre?" He knew the monk. Jauffre had been present during Martin's seminary. But he had never heard him referred to as _Grandmaster_ before. "Why would I need such protection?"

Lysara hesitated before saying, "…Because you are the last son of the Emperor."

"Emperor Uriel Septim? You think the Emperor was my father?" The Nord woman _was _insane! She seemed to be in earnest… but it was absurd! "No, you must have the wrong man. I am a priest of Akatosh. My father was a farmer."

The assassin took hold of the priest's wrist again. "I promise, Jauffre will be able to explain this all to you far better than I can. Now if you would please-"

"I told you, I am not leaving!" Martin yelled, twisting out of her grasp. "What if more daedra come? I must stay and help-"

"If you wish to help them, then you need to leave-"

"That makes no sense! Why would-"

"Because they came for you!" Lysara bellowed, drawing the attention of the remaining guards. Gods damn it, this man would be the end of her!

Eyes wide, Martin searched her face. "An entire city destroyed to get at me? Why? ... Because I'm the Emperor's son?"

"Yes. This is all somehow related to your father- the Emperor's death. And it is vital that I get you to Jauffre safely. We must go now!" She emphasized.

The priest almost looked like he was going to be ill. Lysara felt a twinge of sympathy. This was a lot to take in for anybody.

"Are… are you certain?" He nearly whispered.

She looked at him squarely. "Why would I lie to you?"

He seemed thoughtful, then replied "I don't know. It's strange... I think you might actually be telling the truth. What does this mean?"

"Come with me, and Jauffre will tell you whatever you want to know… please." She held out her hand towards the door.

He looked so uncertain. Finally, he nodded. "You destroyed the Oblivion Gate, they say. You gave them hope. You helped them drive the daedra back. Yes, I'll come with you to Weynon Priory and hear what Jauffre has to say… Lead on."

* * *

Lysara guided Shadowmare towards the priory. The Nord woman would have loved to sleep, or even wash in a nearby stream. But Jauffre had been adamant that she return straight away, and with the monk's fear for Martin being justified, she set out with the priest immediately.

Said man was currently sitting behind her in the saddle, trying not to touch her with any part of his body. Did she smell? Considering she hadn't bathed in a day and had sweat her arse off in 'Oblivion', as the priest had called it, she wouldn't be surprised.

Martin was studying the Nord woman closer. She had high cheekbones, and large dusky eyes that surveyed the road ahead. Her mouth was set in a firm line. With the hood down, her golden tied hair was hanging down her back. It would most likely have shined in the afternoon sunlight, if it wasn't so dirty.

He wasn't thinking ill of her. Gods only knew what this woman had gone through in order to get to him. And all because he was the son of the late Emperor.

It was so hard to believe, but it must be true, if the last night's events were anything to go on. What was going to happen once he got there? He hadn't known what to ask his rescuer, so had been silent for most of the journey.

"I don't know your name." Martin stated quietly, unsure if the break in the silence would be welcome.

"That's because I didn't tell you." She remarked cheekily.

"I should like to know the name of my savior, if you wouldn't mind telling me." The priest wondered at her air of mystery. She didn't answer for so long that he was sure she wasn't going to. Her shoulders dipped down for a second before she replied, "Lysara."

"Thank you, Lysara." Her name rolled off his tongue pleasantly. He wasn't surprised she didn't give a last name. It was very likely she didn't have one, being a Nord.

Lysara didn't know why, but she liked the sound of her name coming from the priest. Perhaps it was his deep, warm voice… and maybe she had gone too long without sleep. At least they were almost to the priory. Then she could be on her way; the emperor-to-be would be safe with the Blades, and she could go see what became of her properties, after some much-needed sleep. She was certain the Legion had seized her house in Bravil, but it was very unlikely they knew of her other homes.

They arrived at the priory gate to sounds of alarm and clamoring weapons, the stable hand sprinting towards them.

"Help! You must help! They're killing everyone at Weynon Priory! I think they're right behind me!" The Dunmer cried out. Just then, a red-cloaked assassin rounded the corner, long sword drawn. Lysara dismounted and tied Shadowmare to the fence, unsheathing her own short sword. Martin followed suit, standing next to the Nord as the Dark Elf ran past.

Grabbing the black horse's muzzle, she stared it squarely in the face. "You stay put." She turned to the Imperial man behind her. "Are you any good with a sword?" Lysara asked skeptically. She'd feel a lot better if the priest was at least armed.

"I've never used one before." Martin answered honestly. His profession didn't call for it.

The red assassin was almost upon them, sword held high and ready to strike. More were coming to aid.

"No time like the present." Handing the short sword to him, Lysara withdrew her daggers. She dived low, slashing between the strange armor of the emperor's murderers. The first stumbled back, but another was ready behind him, trying to crush her skull with a nasty-looking mace.

One went for Martin, who parried the strike deftly. As they fought, the priest's anger and skill grew. These people were responsible for the death of an entire city? His home? And all just to find _him_?

With a frightening roar, Martin grabbed the agent by his silver mask, disorienting him long enough to forcefully shove the short sword up through his chin and into his head. The man twitched and gurgled, the mask dissolving along with the armor. The enraged Martin shoved him back, bloody sword dislodging from his skull. The agent, now revealed to be an Imperial, collapsed on the ground.

The priest whirled around to see that Lysara had taken down two more assassins, but was struggling with the third. Her strange horse whinnied angrily, struggling to free itself from its restraint to help its master. Releasing another shout, Martin charged her attacker head-on, deflecting a blow intended for the Nord woman's head.

Lysara stared wide-eyed at the priest. His piercing blue eyes were wild, his jaw clenched and teeth bared. Martin swept the short sword high before slicing down, burying it deep into the red murderer's shoulder. He shrieked, falling down weakly. A few miserable gasps and the Nord agent was dead, surrounded in his own blood.

Martin began to shake, his eyes still feral. He had no idea what had come over him! His breathing ragged, he turned to assess Lysara. No doubt his display of savagery had frightened even her.

Regaining her composure, the assassin quirked her eyebrow. "Most impressive, Brother Martin. Are you sure you've never used a sword?"

His brow furrowed. He opened his mouth to answer when Brother Piner called out to them. It seemed the agents had posed as travelers before ambushing the monks. Brother Mirebel was dead, and Jauffre unaccounted for. Piner ran towards the small chapel, saying that the Grandmaster was last seen heading out to pray. They followed him, and soon found themselves clashing with more agents.

After dispatching the assassins, Jauffre rushed back to the main priory, fearing the Amulet of Kings was the target. Running to the study, the group watched as Jauffre ran inside a small room that hadn't been there before. He cried out in anger. "The Amulet of Kings is gone! The enemy has defeated us at every turn!" He slammed his fist down on a small table nearby.

Lysara moved inside to see a broken chest. Martin followed behind, his rage finally subsiding.

The Nord woman turned to the Grandmaster. "Martin is alive. That counts for something."

Jauffre nodded, taking note of the last heir. "Thank Talos for that." He looked thoughtful before stating "Martin cannot stay here. We have driven them off, but they will return once they learn of his survival. Which they will."

The monk led them to the stables, describing a fortress where Martin would be safest. Cloud Ruler Temple was hidden within the mountains behind Bruma. Lysara wondered at never having found it before, considering that the Nord-run city was her favorite home away from home. Jauffre turned to the Nord woman abruptly. "Thank you for all that you have done. You have done the Empire a great service. We will take it from here."

Martin looked as shocked as Lysara, who scowled at the rude monk. That was it? After all she had been through in order to assure Martin's safe arrival, they didn't need her anymore?

"With all due respect, Grandmaster, I'd like to see this through." Lysara held back her contempt, thinking honey lured better than piss.

"That won't be necessary. The Blades have always looked after the emperors, and we will continue to do so." Jauffre turned back to take the reins of his horse.

"Just like the Amulet?" The assassin quipped smoothly. He asked for it.

Brother Jauffre turned slowly, pinning the Nord woman with an icy stare. Wishing to resolve the matter, Martin moved in to the monk's line of sight. "I must admit, I would feel more secure with the Hero of Kvatch at my side."

Lysara started, looking at the priest. Hero of Kvatch? That was a bit dramatic, wasn't it?

"Hero of Kvatch? What do you mean?" Jauffre asked. Martin went on to tell the entire tale of Lysara's harrowing battle with the daedra, and how she brought down the Oblivion gate in order to rescue him, as well as the citizens of the fallen city.

Jauffre turned an incredulous eye on her. "Amazing! It seems you would be a valuable companion in our darkest hour. Very well. Let us set off immediately."

* * *

The journey had been long, but uneventful. Lysara ached, desperate for a warm bed so much that she didn't even care that she hadn't eaten in who knows how long. She had been tempted to leave the party when they passed Bruma, thinking of her cozy little house near the east gate. But after making such a fuss to stay with them, she couldn't very well do that now.

The fortress was enormous, with bright stone walls that seemed to touch the sky when standing so near it. The gates opened as soon as they arrived, a Blade running to greet Jauffre. "Grandmaster, is this…?"

"Yes, Cyrus, this is the Emperor's son. Martin Septim."

Said priest whipped around to look at the monk, astonishment evident on his face. He had already been told, but it all seemed so surreal.

Cyrus nodded to Lysara with a courteous 'Ma'am' before rushing to Martin. "My lord! Welcome to Cloud Ruler Temple. We have not had the honor of an emperor's visit in many years!"

Lysara watched on as Martin received his esteemed greeting. She was certain he would slip right in to his role as ruler, and yet he seemed so apprehensive. It appeared that this humble priest was exactly that: humble.

They were led up a great staircase, two other Blades leading their horses to a small stable to the left of the temple. Jauffre led Martin to the front, a small legion standing in wait. The Nord woman watched silently as the Grandmaster made a grand speech to his subordinates. They hailed Martin, drawing their swords in the air and calling him 'Dragon Born'.

She smirked. Dragon Born? She had grown up hearing the fables of men with the souls of dragons. Even as a child she thought it was ridiculous. Then again... back at the priory, the priest had demonstrated how beastly he could be.

Martin was overwhelmed, but not with joy. What was happening? Was this all some sort of nightmare that he just hadn't woke from? What did they expect him to do? He was no ruler, he was a priest!

But they looked at him with such hope…

"All of you! I know you expect me to be Emperor… I'll do my best… but, this is all new to me." He swallowed, feeling the awe leave the crowd of warriors. His eyes scanned until they fell upon Lysara, watching him from afar.

She didn't know why, but she felt a strong desire to comfort Martin. It was so beyond her to hold such compassion. She was the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood!

Well… she _was_…

Now, she didn't know what she was. So did it matter if she had suddenly changed? Arquen's famous words played in her head again.

No. That was behind her.

Martin looked her way, and she found herself smiling at him reassuringly. His bronze skin contrasted against the snowy temple so strikingly. His dark brown hair framed his face, making his bright blue eyes stand out.

He looked just like his father. Well, a few decades earlier than that. He couldn't be more than in his mid-forties.

The priest's mouth turned up slightly, as if to return her smile. Spirit bolstered, he turned back to the Blades. "I'm not used to giving speeches. But I wanted you to know that I appreciate your welcome here." He stuttered slightly, and looked once again at Lysara. Her smile broadened.

"I hope I prove myself worthy of your loyalty in the coming days." It was strange, but as he spoke this last line, the words seemed directed at her, even though he was addressing his legion. Snapping out of his thoughts, he bowed his head to the Blades. "That's it. Thank you."

Jauffre awkwardly responded, then gave orders to the troops. Martin approached Lysara, who was still smiling at him.

"Not much of a speech, was it? Didn't seem to bother them, though." He spoke sheepishly.

"It was fine. They can't ask any more of you than that." She answered gently.

"The Blades saluting me and hailing me as Martin Septim…" He looked down, lost in thought again. Fearing he had given offense, he looked back up at her. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful. I know I would be dead by now if it wasn't for you… Thank you." He paused before placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Think nothing of it…" She smirked, eyes drooping a bit. It was then that Martin noticed the dark circles under her eyes.

"Are you all right?" He asked, concerned. It was that moment that Lysara's body went limp from exhaustion. Martin caught her before she hit the ground, calling out for help. Two Blades ran over to them, taking the semi-conscious Nord from him and putting her arms around their necks in order to carry the woman towards the barracks.

The priest followed before Jauffre and Cyrus cut him off. "No need to worry, your highness. She will be looked after. Now it is time to show you to your room, and get you rested and refreshed." The Grandmaster assured him.

Martin looked unsure, but reluctantly nodded. He was led away, but turned his head to follow the Hero with his eyes until she was out of sight.


	6. Chapter 5

The Emperor's Heart

Chapter 5

(Warning: Contains gore)

Lysara stood before the abandoned house. Through the off-hinge door and down the gnarled staircase was the entrance to the underground sanctuary of the Dark Brotherhood. It had been so long since she had gone inside, bittersweet memories keeping her far from her once-favored home.

She didn't want to go, but it was as if some force was pulling her inside. As she entered the house, the rotting walls began to tremble, dust and plaster crumbling down. Despite the building falling in around her, she moved slowly, as if she were trudging through mud. She entered the basement unharmed, the eerie red light that emanated from the sanctuary door in sight. She shouldn't be there.

The assassin approached the black iron door. The face of Sithis stared at her accusingly. His sightless eye sockets began to trickle blood, just as if the Dread Father was crying. Lysara looked on in horror as the blood poured out faster, sliding down the door; marring the image of the Night Mother and her children until it was pooling around the Nord's feet.

Opening by itself, it revealed the inner sanctum. No candles were lit, but thick shadows danced around the room menacingly. Stepping inside, Lysara nearly lost her footing when she treaded on something slippery. Peering down, she realized it was a hand. There on the floor were the broken bodies of her Brotherhood family, their blood and organs painting the stone floor red.

She had not done this! When she had been ordered to kill the Cheydinhal sanctuary, she had taken great pains to insure that their deaths were swift and as painless as possible. She loved them! She would never have-

The hand she had stepped on suddenly twisted up and around her ankle. She jerked, trying to free herself.

It was Antoinetta Marie. Gods, Lysara had hated herself completely after watching her sister gasp for breath, the fast-acting poison in the apple not nearly fast enough. She hadn't cried for years until that night. Antoinetta's desperate and betrayed eyes had watered before rolling back in her head. Her last words still haunted her: _"Why, Sister? ...Why?"_

Now, the beloved sister was drenched in her own lifeblood, white eyes glaring at Lysara with such hate that it surely could have struck her dead. The others began to stir and rise from the ground, making their way to the captured Listener, reaching out for her with crooked, gory hands.

Lysara wanted to cry out as they pulled her down, but no sound escaped her lips. She wanted to plead to them, make them understand- but how could they? She should have refused, even if forfeiting her own life.

Gods, she needed to run away from this horrible place. But her struggles were useless; the Nord's body felt so heavy. Movement was impossible.

Just then, she felt another presence. Looking up, Lysara's eyes went wide.

Lucien Lachance stood near her, wearing his Speaker robes. His face held affection as he smiled upon her, despite her clear distress. But just as quickly, it morphed into a sadistic grin, his dark eyes becoming opaque. As he moved closer, his flesh began to fall away until he was a bloody mass of lesions and bone.

He looked just as he had at Applewatch, after the Black Hand had punished him for a crime he did not commit. The monstrous Lucien dropped down on her with bony claws reaching for her throat.

It was then that she finally screamed.

"Hey, hey! Take it easy! You're alright..."

The assassin struggled as she felt the hands on her, holding her down to the floor. A pitiful whimper escaped her lips.

"Ma'am, it's alright. You're safe."

Lysara's eyes shot open. She was lying on a bedroll, a Blade she didn't recognize kneeling next to her. The Breton woman smiled reassuringly, releasing her hold on the Nord. "There now."

Lysara sat up slowly, her body aching. The Blade assisted her before turning to retrieve a flagon. "Drink this, ma'am. It will settle you." She handed it to Lysara who gulped it desperately. The wine burned, but she didn't care.

"Not so fast! You'll undo yourself that way." The flagon was taken from her, despite the nasty glare from the Nord woman.

"Now, how are you feeling?" The blade asked gently.

Lysara felt wretched. But she figured the Breton was asking about her bruised body, and not her fractured mind. "Fine."

The Blade nodded. "We all heard about what you did in Kvatch. You were brave to attempt such a thing."

Lysara stood on unstable legs. The wine had bolstered her a little, but she was still not feeling well.

Never had she had such a vivid nightmare before.

"If you are feeling well enough, Grandmaster Jauffre would like to see you." The Breton woman spoke kindly, but with authority.

"Sure." Lysara offered. The Blade guided her carefully to the great hall. A large fireplace was roaring, giving a soft glow to the enormous room. It was empty, except for the monk. The moment Lysara was standing in front of the seated Grandmaster, the blade was dismissed.

"How are you feeling?" Jauffre asked, his face expressionless.

"Well enough."

"Good. There are a few things that must be made clear. Have a seat." He motioned to the bench in front of him. Lysara hesitated, but was given a stern look by the monk. She sighed, sitting where she had been directed. Staring at one another, they were silent. After a few minutes, Jauffre asked bluntly, "Why are you here?"

Lysara looked down, thinking how to answer that. Why _was_ she here? This was so far out of her element, her very nature, that her presence at the temple baffled even her.

"I am here… because the Emperor Uriel asked me to be." She looked up as she said this, eyes and mind steady. It was a blunt answer for a blunt question.

The Grandmaster's eyes narrowed. "And why should you care? Now that he is dead, you would be free to go your own way. So why remain?" His voice was calculating.

"I was there when he was escaping. He seemed to know me somehow, and he spared me twice. I was supposed to protect him, but I failed. I wish to make amends for that by protecting his son."

"Rather uncharacteristic, for someone of your profession."

Lysara watched as the monk placed a pack- _her_ pack- on the table. He pulled her Brotherhood armor out enough for her to see.

Damn it.

Her eyes went from the armor to the monk again. Exhaling, she squared her shoulders. "Yes, I was an assassin. But I am not a part of the Brotherhood anymore."

"It isn't likely they just let you walk away from the Dark Brotherhood. And with their armor, no less." His eyebrow quirked.

"No, it's not," She answered honestly. "I have never heard of a Brother leaving the guild. The only way anyone has ever left is, well…" She trailed off, wondering why they would have let her live. She knew everything about the Brotherhood. It made her a liability, yet they let her go. _Why_?

Unless they truly believed she would return.

Did the Night Mother have the ability to see beyond time? Was she allowing her to go, knowing full and well that Lysara would come back on her own?

The monk snapped her out of her reverie. "Yes, I suppose I can see the logic in that. After all, you know too much." The Nord realized that he wasn't talking about the Brotherhood anymore.

Was he going to have her executed? No good deed was enough to clear her wrongdoing, it seemed; even saving the heir to the throne. She wasn't stupid enough to believe that she would be forgiven, just like that, but couldn't help but want to be.

Yes, she had committed great acts of evil in the eyes of the Empire. But it wasn't like she smothered babies in their sleep. If she was at your door, chances were you had done something to bring her there. The services of the brotherhood weren't cheap or easy to obtain.

"Of course, if you were to join us, then there would be no reason to see things in such a bleak light." The monk said casually, examining the black armor.

She looked at him confused. Join what? The Blades? She couldn't be hearing him right. This man had discovered her identity, yet he was offering Lysara a position in his ranks. The old man had to be senile.

Returning his assessing eyes to her, he explained, "Knowing what you are- or _were_, as well as what you have done for the Empire, I have considered what to do with you. If you were working for the Brotherhood still, you would never have bothered yourself with the Emperor, let alone save his son. And if you were with the enemy, you would have slain Martin, not bring him here."

Jauffre stood up and walked around to her side of the table. He sat the pack in front of her.

"I believed you when said the Emperor said he trusted you, and that you would help Martin. According to Martin, you are a hero worthy of praise and recognition. Seeing as he has no reason to lie, I am inclined to believe him as well."

He turned away from her, walking up to the fireplace. Hands behind his back in a leisurely stance, he continued. "You have proven yourself a loyal servant of the Empire, and worthy as any Blade to stand by Martin's side in this crisis. As the Grandmaster of the Blades, I would be honored to accept you in our order." He turned to face her once more. "Will you join us?"

This monk was just full of surprises!

Lysara considered this. A chance to start over. A chance to be revered, instead of despised. The assassin would be lying if she said she hadn't wanted it, even in her prime of the Dark Brotherhood. The Nord had even taken on a few quests in between contracts, enjoying the admiration and thanks from those she helped. It had been her darkest secret, and extremely ironic.

"Yes." Lysara murmured.

"Eh, what was that? I am a trifle death in one ear, you'll have to speak a little louder." The Grandmaster mused.

Standing, the Nord woman resounded, "Yes, I will join the Blades."

For the first time since she had met him, the monk smiled, albeit a little. "Excellent. It would have been a shame to have to kill you."

The Nord woman tried not to laugh. She should have figured on that. She _had_.

"And, how am I to address you?" The Grandmaster's eyebrow quirked.

"Lysara." It would take some getting used to, freely giving out and hearing her own name.

"It is my honor to welcome you into our ranks as a Knight Sister of the Blades, Lysara." He pulled a rope near the fireplace. A moment later, the same Blade as before entered, accompanied by another female Blade, this one an Imperial.

"Take Lysara to the armory. She will need to be fitted." The monk turned back to look at his newest legionnaire. "I am sure a fresh set of civilian attire would be welcome as well. Jena, would you have anything that might suit?"

Lysara looked down at the Dremora cloak. It was singed in a few places, and grimy everywhere else. The Imperial woman nodded, motioning towards a nearby door. "This way."

"When you are finished, return to me. We must discuss retrieving the Amulet." Jauffre called out to her as the two women led her out of the large room.

The female Blades were all business. Except the moment they shut the door behind them.

"Finally, another woman in our ranks!" Jena quietly exclaimed. The Breton, Caroline, nodded excitedly. They ushered a stunned Lysara to the female Barracks, sitting her down in a chair. Their attentions left her instantly, pursuing a new dress- or maybe a nice tunic with a matching skirt? Clothes were strewn across the floor in a matter of seconds.

The Nord looked on incredulously. These women didn't even know her, yet had immediately taken her in, ready to dress her like a favorite doll.

As they continued to fuss over colors and fit, Lysara remembered a time similar to this a year ago, when Antoinetta Marie and Telaendril were helping her dress for a party in Skingrad, where she was to be the 'Assassin of Honor', unbeknownst to the unfortunate guests.

_She had proven herself capable and worthy of such a large and elaborate contract. Her Sisters' efforts had turned out to be unnecessary, as Ocheeva presented her with a beautiful black gown enchanted with charm spells, her prize for a job well done on her last contract. The slayers fawned over her in the dress, giggling about how she would '_knock em' dead'_. _

_She was alone in the sleeping quarters, checking her supplies when the Nord had felt a presence behind her. Turning, she found herself face to face with Lucien Lachance. He was looking her over, his dark eyes emotionless as they traced her curves in the ebony gown. _

_Blushing, the Nord bowed respectfully to her superior. Lucien had been the one to come across her in Riften several years back, shortly after she had been turned out of the orphanage. Some bastard had tried to take advantage of her misfortune by offering her food, then attempted to 'exact payment' from her, pulling her into a nearby alley and tearing at her worn clothes._

_She repaid the old man in kind- with a dagger to the neck._

_It seemed that she was not the first the man had tried this on, as Lucien Lachance had been in the alley waiting for him. He had calmly walked out of the shadows, a sinister smile on his face. The young Nord had pointed the bloody dagger in his direction, lest he try to take her as well. Instead, he offered her a home, family, and a satisfying career in ridding Nirn of similar filth. _

_Lysara had always admired Lucien's stoic and impartial manner, though most outside of the Brotherhood would have termed him 'cold-hearted'. He was. He was very aloof, rarely appearing in the sanctuary, preferring his solitude at Fort Farragut._

"_Lucien…" Lysara smiled shyly. He was the only man who could unnerve her. He was dark-haired, pale and tall for an Imperial. His chiseled features coupled with his mysterious nature made him look statuesque. _

"_I understand you have been given the Summitmist Manor contract. Congratulations, dear Sister. No doubt you have earned it."_

_Her eyes went wide. She had never known Lucien to give compliments before. Taking her hand, the Speaker twirled her slowly as if they were dancing, eyes never leaving her body. "The Deceiver's Finery suits you."_

_Lysara bit her lip to suppress the smile threatening to break across her face. She had guiltily daydreamed about Lucien in this very manner. Her admiration in youth had morphed into attraction in adulthood; she ached to know his deadly touch._

"_My, how you have grown…" Lucien pulled her closer, one hand reaching up to cup her cheek. His fingers slid across her neck, making the Nord gasp softly. He could easily end her life with one _snap_. Lysara's eyes slid closed as he leaned in-_

"What do you think of this?"

The assassin snapped out of her thoughts, a crimson stain on her cheeks. "I'm sorry, what?"

"This tunic? I think it will fit you the best. Skirt will be a little short, but it is just until we can get you your own." Jena held up a brown shirt with a thin leather belt around the waist while Caroline displayed a cream colored skirt.

"It's fine, thank you…" Lysara smiled weakly, but it satisfied the Blades well enough. Her thoughts merged with the images from her nightmare.

What had become of her Brothers? Were they serving Sithis in the Void?

'I guess I'll find out, sooner or later.' She thought. Even if she had left the Brotherhood, her actions could only land her soul in the Void. Did they understand her role in their deaths? Would she be welcomed with open arms, or with hateful words and piercing daggers?

* * *

Thank you for your patience. Kudos to those of you who get the movie quotes and song lyrics I interject throughout the story (for my own amusement).


	7. Chapter 6

The Emperor's Heart

Chapter 6

Martin heaved a sigh, finally alone with his thoughts. The soldiers had led him to an enormous and grand room with high walls, finery and a large bed. A bath had been brought in and filled so he could wipe away the grime of travel. A large plate of fruits and cheeses sat on a small table near the bed, along with a bottle of wine and a silver goblet. There were even a few jewels on a shelf near the headboard. What on Nirn they though he would do with them, he wasn't sure.

The Blades were to be commended for their dedication, to be sure. However, this whole 'Emperor' thing was new to him.

The priest kept hoping that at any moment, he would wake up to find it all had been a terrible dream. The daedra, the red assassins, all of it. A flash of dusky blue eyes appeared in his mind.

Well, perhaps not _all_.

The priest thought about the strange Nord. Never in his life had he met a woman with such… pluck.

"Lysara…" He whispered. A pretty sort of name. It suited her. 'Gods, I hope she is alright.' He wondered what had become of her. The Nord had looked very unwell when the two soldiers had hauled her away. She had gone through so much, and all for him. The late emperor must have been some man to warrant such devotion from an apparent stranger. His father…

Martin tiredly ran his hand through his oily hair. He eyed the bathtub, tendrils of steam rising from the frothy water. Scented oils were placed next to a large cloth. The Blades had provided him every comfort he could imagine and more.

"Well, 'might as well make the most of it." He mused mirthlessly. He hoped that no one would come in to wash him. There were some things he just would not tolerate, emperor or not.

After a long soak and deep scrubbing that left his skin a little red, the priest emerged from the tub a new man. A fine robe had been laid on the bed. Instead, he redressed in his own dingy blue one. Sure, it was a little petty, but until they placed that crown on his head (if that is indeed what they would do) he was simply Martin, the priest.

Sitting on the plush feathered mattress again, the Imperial's thoughts and heart began to race. It was all too much to take in. What did they expect from him? Could he even do whatever it was they wanted? He was a simple man who had led a simple life, no more. He knew so little about politics, let alone running a kingdom. And what of the threats on his life, and the lives already lost? Martin gasped, his chest feeling tight as his brow broke with sweat.

"Gods preserve me…"

A loud knock interrupted his dismal thoughts. Running his hand over his face to wipe away the sweat, he tried to feign composure. "Come in."

A much sturdier-looking Lysara appeared from behind the opening door. She seemed far better than the last time he had seen her; her skin was no longer ashen, and her cheeks even had a bit of color in them. In place of the dreadful dremora robe, she wore a brown tunic and tan skirt. Her hair was swept back; long, dark-golden hair sweeping against her lower back. Martin had trained not to give in to the temptation to admire a woman too closely, but found himself struggling to keep his eyes solely on her face.

She nodded to him in greeting. "How are you?"

He smirked. "I should be asking you that very question. I am not the one who collapsed in the courtyard."

The Nord woman looked down sheepishly for a moment. "I didn't. Jenna says you caught me in time… thank you for that."

He nodded back to her as response. The two assessed each other in silence before Lysara closed the door behind her. Turning back, her face was once again stoic. "You didn't answer my question."

Sighing, the monk shook his head. "Everyone suddenly expects me to suddenly know what to do. How to behave. They want an emperor to tell them what to do… and I haven't the faintest idea…" He had been looking down, far away. He started slightly, and gave her an apologetic look. "Forgive me. I should not be placing my burdens on you."

"You may do as you please, your highness." She was not mocking him, but he still frowned at the title.

"Please, if it is all the same, I would prefer 'Martin'."

"I am not sure I can do that. It seems I am one of your loyal subjects now." To offer proof, she held up her newly-acquired kitana. The markings were the same as the other blades'.

The priest was shocked, to say the least. This woman had risked limb and life to get him to the temple. Her duty was over. Yet her she stood, ready to serve him? "You honor me, but…"

"…but?" Lysara quirked an eyebrow.

"I am afraid the risk is too great. Do not misunderstand, you have proven yourself very capable. However, I do not wish to risk anyone unnecessarily."

"That may be, but I chose this of my own free will." 'More or less…' the Nord woman thought wryly. "And besides, I have faced far more frightening things than those creatures."

Martin nodded, conceding. "Thank you, my friend. Your company is most welcome."

Lysara's stomach flipped a little at the Imperial's words. Mentally shaking the feeling, she returned to the problem at hand. "We need to get the amulet back."

"Of course. The Amulet of Kings. So we… I… can take it to the Temple of the One and relight the Dragonfires. And stop the Oblivion invasion."

"Then you will be emperor."

"The Emperor? Now that's an idea that will take some getting used to…" The priest looked troubled once again. "In any case, we will need the amulet first. Maybe Jauffre will know where to start."

"He does. I am to travel back to the Imperial City to find Baurus. He believes he may have learned something about those behind the assassinations and the Amulet."

"Oh. Good. So you're leaving then?" Martin didn't know why that bothered him. The quest held danger, to be sure, but the Nord could handle herself. Still… perhaps he did not wish to be without his newly-found companion.

Lysara smiled at him. "I will return in a few days; hopefully with your Amulet." She placed her hand over his briefly. It was meant to give comfort to the weary man. It was also done to see if she could repeat the fissure of energy they had exchanged the first time she touched him. Hmm. Nothing. Maybe she imagined it? But then he had reacted too.

She stood and walked to the door. Martin called out to her. "Be careful, my friend. May the gods watch over you."

She grimaced. That was very unlikely.

* * *

Lysara arrived at the boarding house that the Grandmaster had directed her to. If he was right, then Baurus would be inside. He had told her to enter the city quietly, and in disguise. She almost laughed at him. Just a few days before, she had escaped from the prison- she didn't need told to be discreet. Opting for the outfit the girls had given her and a light, armor-free pack, she set out immediately for the capital.

The small pub was well-lit and warm. It only took a second for Lysara to spot the Redguard sitting at the bar. They were alone, but for the publican and a Breton man sitting in the corner of the room. He must have felt her eyes, for the small man looked up from his book and nodded at her kindly. She approached Baurus, placing her hand on his shoulder. He turned slowly. His eyes lit up briefly with recognition before he stood and embraced her. She suppressed the yelp that had threatened to leave her at his intimate embrace.

"Hello, Love." He nuzzled his face into her neck, causing her to stiffen. What had come over him!? Had the Emperor's death been too much for him, and he had lost his mind?

He brought his lips close to her ear. "Sit down. Don't say anything. Just do what I say."

His breath in her ear caused her to shiver. She obeyed, and took a seat next to him, trying to get her wits back. He leaned forward, making it appear as if they were having a warm conversation between lovers.

"Listen. I am going to get up in a minute and walk out of here. That guy in the corner will follow me. You follow him." With that, he stood, kissed her cheek, and headed around a corner, most likely leading to the basement and the privy. Sure enough, the Breton man casually placed his book on the table and stood. Lysara watched from the corner of her eye as he walked in the same direction as Baurus. The moment he was out of sight, the Nord woman got up and took pursuit.

She carefully opened the door to the basement and closed it behind her. She could hear footsteps in the distance. She crept around the corner without a sound. At the bottom the steps, she could see the Breton looking around, confused. A moment later, Baurus could be seen, his kitana in hand. The other man raised his fist into the air, a red mist pouring out from it. He immerged from the ruby cloud, wearing the red armor of the assassins and a dark axe in hand. Lysara lifted her skirt and removed her daggers from a strap on her thigh, ready to aid the Redguard in battle.

Baurus was a skilled swordsman, parrying the nasty blows of the Breton agilely. But the assassin fought dirty, and managed to get in a good hit. It would have been nothing, but the Redguard fell to the ground, looking as if he were in agony. Poisoned.

As the red murderer raised the axe to bring the final death blow, Lysara moved fluidly behind him, both daggers at his throat. With a swift flick of her wrists, she opened the Breton's throat beneath his mask. He crumpled to the ground, gargling blood and convulsing. When he was finally still, the armor dissolved, revealing the nasty gash under his chin.

The Nord moved to Baurus and pulled him off the ground. He leaned on her for support as she looked his wound over. It wasn't deep, and the fact that he could stand showed the poison to be a weak brew.

"Are you alright?"

"I am, thanks to you. Good work. I am glad to see you, by the way. You just caught me at a bad time."

"Yes, I see that…" She looked meaningfully at the body of the assassin. "What have you learned?"

"Other than you must have been a precious jewel to the Brotherhood?" He nodded at her handiwork, grimacing slightly. She looked at him anxiously. So he did know.

"Relax, Nord. If the Emperor trusted you, as well as Jauffre, then so do I." He stood on his own power now. He searched the body, pulling out a small coin purse and a large book.

As he leafed through the pages of the dark book, he spoke to her. "The assassins who killed the Emperor were part of a daedric cult known as the Mythic Dawn. Apparently worship the Daedra Lord Mehrunes Dagon. I've been tracking their agents in the Imperial City. I guess they noticed."

Lysara explained about the stolen amulet and the events of Kvatch. He was surprised and relieved to hear that the last heir had made it safely to the temple.

"I don't want to seem ungrateful, but why are you still here? I mean, if you brought Martin back to Cloud Ruler Temple, why continue to help?"

Lysara looked away for a moment, then smiled at the Redguard. "Well… it would seem that your duty has become mine, Blade Brother."

Baurus grinned widely before dropping the book and pulling her into another embrace. This time she yelped. He twirled her around before setting her back on her feet, still smiling like a madman. These Blades were all a bit off.

"So, a noble pursuit after all! I'm glad to hear it. You'll make a great addition to the ranks! Now, about this book…" He retrieved the tome and showed it to her. It all looked like poetic nonsense from what she could tell.

"There's a scholar at the Arcane University. Tar-Meena's her name. Supposed to be an expert on daedric cults. Why don't you take that book to her, see what she makes of it. I'll keep running leads on the Mythic Dawn network. If you find anything, you can find me here. May Talos guide you."

The Nord assassin nodded, turning to leave but stopped short. "… Jauffre says you did well… and not to blame yourself." He looked solemn, understanding her meaning. He nodded. She left without another word.


End file.
